


Asimov's Spoon

by rudearrow



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, Mentioned Korg/Hiroim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudearrow/pseuds/rudearrow
Summary: A day in the life of recently reformed corsair of the cosmos: Clint Barton. Featuring unhealthily early wake-ups, the best Kronan baker this side of the Aegis asteroid belt, and two (welcome) workplace visitors.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Asimov's Spoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trashcanakin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashcanakin/gifts).



> For my dumpsterbro, Trashcanakin. It's been a tough 12 months or so, but if any trashcan can, it's you, pal. Happy Birthday 💜

**\---ω🜞ɦ---**

At 0430, the majority of ASTER-616A’s scant residents were still bedded down. This meant there was no dynamic noise to muffle the colony’s electrical grid and the low, molar-vibrating hum was nearly overpowering. Clint inhaled deeply, screwing his nose up in immediate distaste at the chemical tang omnipresent at every spaceport. Unlike a ship, a decent one at least, the air scrubbers here just couldn’t keep pace with the demand caused by so many pollutant producing mechanicals.

Blindly, rotely- he pressed a hand to the ancient scanner of the Asimov’s Spoon entryway to provide a derma-sample. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, stifling a yawn while it processed. Within seconds, the panel chimed an upbeat little jingle, then glowed green. Its scratched, scuffed surface read ‘Barton, Clinton F. - LVL 1 Access Approval’. A moment later, the durasteel pocket door slid open and Clint entered.

As the lowest peon of the Asimov’s Spoon work roster, it was Clint’s job to prep the diner for opening. He never thought he'd feel resentment towards pancakes, but by the light of Polaris- Clint never wanted to see another as long as he lived. He grabbed the grease-stained apron from the hook next to the sink and slipped it over his clothes, tying the strings neatly around his waist. 

"Oh well," Clint sighed and reminded himself that the alternative had been worse.

He bent to heft a sack of flour onto one shoulder. Clint smiled faintly at the quiet jangle of metal against metal as the motion jostled the two fine chains around his neck. Setting the flour atop the durasteel counter, he tucked them safely back under his shirt. 

The rest of the regular motions of his morning routine flowed mindlessly: grabbing the powdered eggs, the mixing bowls, flicking on the industrial griddle. The sizzle and pop of the long griddle hardly registered anymore. It was his new white noise, though even six solid months in hard grav could never truly replace a lifetime of hearing the near infrasonic hum of deep space capable engines. More than the sounds of spacer life, Clint missed being able to _feel_ the world around him. Even without his aides in, Clint had always known if the _Sabre Étoile_ was mid-maneuver or at rest. This giant space rock, though... well, it was cold and still beneath his feet. Dead.

Clint didn’t really regret the decision to stop running and face the Galactic Assembly for his corsairing past, but sometimes- he did miss what doing so had cost him. Being tied to one place felt stifling, unnatural. For a person who couldn’t recall having stayed in one place for more than a few weeks at a time, it was a perfectly designed punishment. Which was, after all, precisely the argument Tony and Bucky had made during his hearing six months ago. 

Clint Barton turned _colonist_. Who would've ever thought? Certainly not him. 

"What a 'verse we live in", Clint said wryly. He flicked the Flerken bobblehead atop the grill just to watch it nod agreeably. "The things we do for love, eh, little guy?" 

The toy continued to bob its affirmation. 

"Well, love aaaand... five years probation complete with nanite trackers," Clint scratched at his nose idly and sniffed. "Ah well, this egg protein isn't gonna rehydrate itself, right? Time to get to work, little buddy."

**\---ω🜞ɦ---**

"Hey Barton!" Korg called out. "Your little Hunter friend is here. He seems grumpy- well, more than usual- but you squishy carbon types are hard to read." 

"Thanks, man,” Clint replied. He glanced at the chronometer. It read 1000. “Mind taking over the line for me while I go say hi?"

"Not at all!" Korg replied, cheerful as ever. "You've covered for me to see Hiroim plenty of times." 

Korg shuffled his huge body over to the griddle, plucked hold of a spare apron, and gingerly pulled it on. It strained at the seams, barely covering a strip of the Kronan's massive rocky chest. Clint clapped him on the back in thanks as he passed. A clap that was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic, ow. 

Clint rubbed at his now throbbing hand as he rounded the partition between the kitchen and the serving bar. He grinned widely at the slouched figure seated there. 

"Bucky! I didn't ex-" 

"What'd you do now?" Bucky said, his brown eyes narrowed and fixed firmly on Clint's hand.

"Oh, this?" Clint waves his hand vaguely in the other man's direction. "It's nothin'. Just clapped Korg on the back. Wasn't thinking it through." 

"Mm, not your strong suit, no." 

Clint leaned one hip against the counter and grinned. "You come here before the lunch rush just to poke fun at me?" 

"Somethin' like that," Bucky replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. "No new bounties dropped for this Sector today, so I've got some time." 

"You know you can take jobs outside our Sector, right?" 

"Clint..." 

Tearing his gaze away from Bucky, Clint grabbed a rag and began wiping down the counter. He registered the scrape of Bucky's chair as the man stood to- leave? Maybe. Clint kept wiping. A familiar metal hand covered his, stopping Clint’s mechanical circular motions with a gentle insistence that belied that hand’s true strength. Clint swallowed roughly. 

"We've talked about this," Bucky said, quiet and steady. "Till you're off probation, I'm not leaving this Sector. Not until you're free to come with." 

Clint looked up. He took in Bucky's serious, tired eyes; the wry twist of his mouth; the stubble scattered across his square jaw; the fall of his brown hair. "Okay," Clint managed to say. He cleared his throat pointedly. "Sorry, sometimes I just. I don't know why you both-" 

The diner door flew open, accompanied by its usual obnoxious chime. Clint and Bucky turned their heads towards the sound.

"--no, no, _no_ . I don't care _what_ your decrepit diagnostic program said, the reality is that if you put _that_ ship into vacuum it'll last about as long as my average relationship!" 

Clint and Bucky turned to meet each other's gaze in near perfect unison. Bucky squeezed Clint's hand, which prompted the taller man to raise a single eyebrow in amusement. Bucky snorted, released Clint's hand, and gestured towards the coffee pot behind the counter. 

"Oh yeah," Clint said agreeably. "It's our first line of defense." 

"Just put a straw in the pot," Bucky replied. His eyes gleamed with humor. "Tony appreciates efficiency." 

The man in question plopped into the chair next to Bucky's. His hands, however, kept moving. Wildly. 

"And look, that's your prerogative. It's no skin off my nose, but I will absolutely never let you forget it _and_ I'll testify as a witness in the class-action lawsuit that is sure to come your way for declaring a passenger ship that has the structural integrity of a preschooler's macaroni art space worthy!" Tony said, practically shaking with outrage. 

Clint placed a mug in front of him and poured a generous amount of fresh coffee.

Tony reached for the coffee blindly, gulping down a sip with a grimace. His eyes shone with the faint blue glow that indicated he was actively using Extremis. "I have better things to do than tell you how obviously wrong you are. Take my advice, don't take my advice- it's up to you. But I would remind you that I'm a technopath and you?" Tony said venomously. His eyes flared brightly. "Are _not_. Ciao." 

Bucky slid over the creamer and sugar with a sympathetic grunt. "Rough day?" 

"It's not even noon," Tony said plaintively to the ceiling. The blue glow faded from his eyes as he sent Extremis to standby mode. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, groaning, as he continued. "It's not even noon and I want to take a plasma cutter to that asshole's-" 

"Oo-kay," Clint said soothingly. He swiped a cronut from under the glass dome of the display stand. "Eat this. Sugar and fat and bread- it calms you." 

Tony accepted the pastry, stuffing half into his mouth with a sullen expression. Clint and Bucky eyed each other knowingly. The bounty hunter raised an open palm, lowering a digit for each passing second. Clint struggled not to snicker outright. Bucky had just lowered his middle finger when- 

"Oh my Planck," Tony moaned, blue eyes fluttering shut. His whole body sagged in the chair. "Drugs- that's the only explanation. These have to be spiked with some sort of untoward substance. How does that sentient silica _do it_?"

"Korg's got a gift," Clint said simply. 

Bucky nodded solemnly in agreement. "If I didn't have the serum, I'd have gained 20 kilos since coming here," he said.

"Aw, but you'd be so cute with a little extra around the middle," Clint said, delighted by the mental image. "And so cuddly." 

"You sayin' I'm not cuddly now?" Bucky challenged, an amused gleam in his eyes. 

"Mm, like a cactus," Tony said, finally overcoming his pleasant, pastry-induced fugue state. 

"You've never even seen a cactus." 

"Do I need to? It's literally covered in _needles_." 

"Okay, okay," Clint said, amused but aware that the clock was ticking- the start of the diner's busiest hours was 1100. "As glad as I am to see you guys, I gotta go soon-ish." 

Tony reached for his wrist, sliding his hand down to twine their fingers together. "Shit, already? Knew I should've left the workshop earlier." 

"Mm," grunted Bucky, shooting Tony an exasperated look. 

"Told you not to even go in this morning." 

"...am I missing something?" Clint said. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. Remembering things wasn't his strong suit, but Clint was pretty positive they hadn't made plans for today. "Was I supposed to ask for today off, or?" 

"No, you didn't forget anything!" Tony rushed to reassure him. "It's just that, uh, Bucky and I-" he stopped, looking over at Bucky guiltily. 

"We wanted to surprise you," Bucky finished for him. He reached to stroke a hand down Tony's back reassuringly. "You've been working so many hours here at the diner." 

"On top of your community service hours," Tony added, leaning with a grateful expression into Bucky's touch. "So... we called Korg and asked for a favour." 

"A favour?" Clint parroted dumbly. 

"Korg agreed to take lunch prep so that the three of us could have a lunch date," Bucky said. Next to him, Tony nodded vigorously.

Clint rocked back on his heels. “I- really?” he asked. “But my court order-”

“Your court order says you need to work so you can be taxed- a start to paying back the cost of your corsairing misadventures,” Bucky said, voice even and firm. “You registered with your probation officer that you’d work a minimum of forty hours a week here at Asimov’s Spoon, right?” 

“Yeah, you know I did,” Clint replied. He rubbed the pendants of his chains together nervously. “But I can’t just… _leave_.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Tony said. “My nanites would register an anomaly if you were to leave this exact location. We’d have the spaceport PD on us in minutes.”

“I don’t understand,” Clint said. He was bewildered but charmed, despite all odds.

“In your defense, our timing was thrown off by bot-boy here,” Bucky said, jabbing a thumb in Tony’s direction. “This was going to be a lot smoother.”  
  
“Rude but also accurate, as usual,” Tony said, grinning at Bucky toothily. 

Bucy rolled his eyes fondly. “Who we need is…”  
  
“Korg!” Tony shouted. He rang the antique hand-bell atop the counter forcefully. 

Korg’s sandy, rocky head peered through the kitchen partition window. “Is it time?” he asked excitedly.

“It is,” Bucky confirmed. Korg beamed and disappeared from the window with a faint whoop of glee.

“Time for _what_?” Clint threw up his hands in exasperation.

Tony’s eyes flared blue briefly. “Time for a wooing,” he said, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows. He winked and nodded towards the door. “First things first… gotta set the stage.” The LED ‘Open’ sign flickered dark briefly before re-illuminating to read ‘Closed’. Tony rubbed his hands together gleefully. “And now, to set the mood.”

“Uh,” Clint shifted nervously.

“Let him have this,” Bucky said dryly, his mouth quirked with amusement. “He’s been planning this moment for days.”

Tony flicked his hands towards the speakers overhead and they blared to life; a slightly scratchy rendition of some smooth bebop number blanketed the room. Another gesture darkened half of the harsh lights overhead, leaving just the warmer LEDs above the bar to illuminate the space. Bucky reached down and, with the smallest of flourishes, presented a… tiny bouquet?

“How’d you get _that_ ,” Clint boggled. “I didn’t think this asteroid had a hydrofarm for flowers.”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Bucky said. “But Ms. Sharma thinks you’re- and I quote- such a _sweet young man_ . She overheard us plotting on the balcony while you were napping and insisted we needed flowers.”  
  
“So,” Tony added. “You’re the proud new owner of a flowering strawberry plant. Mazel tov!”

Clint ran careful fingers across the plant’s delicate blossoms. The petals were cool and smooth against his skin- like the thinnest plasma membrane. “I’ve never touched a flower before,” he said, unthinking. “Hells, I’ve never even seen one.”

Bucky cleared his throat roughly, looking uncharacteristically moved. “Well, now you have.”

Clint smiled at him warmly. "Thank you," he said quietly, turning to face Tony as well. "Both of you. This is... well, it's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Well, get used to it," Tony replied with a sniff, waving a hand lazily. "I've been told I overcompensate for my lack of ability to express emotions verbally with gestures. So, the gesturing has only just begun, my cosmic corsair."

"Former cosmic corsair," Bucky corrected.

Clint laughed helplessly. He squeezed the pendants around his neck tightly, feeling the familiar etched star and reactor press into his skin. By Polaris, he loved these two.

"Order up!" Korg shouted, startling Clint from his affectionate musing. The huge Kronan squeezed through the partition doorway, holding a tray aloft carefully in his massive hands. "Three space cows- all run through the garden, one with eggs up- and three orders of frog sticks. With a round of fizzies!"

“Perfect timing, Korg,” Bucky said with a nod of approval.

Tony clapped his hands together, groaning appreciatively at the spread of food. "You're my favourite sentient silicate lifeform, Korg."

"Bet you say that to all the boys, Stark," Korg replied easily. He tilted his head at Clint curiously. "What are you still doing standing there? Grab a chair and get comfy! You're not standing and eating today, jeez."

Clint raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “You got it, big guy- I’ll grab a chair.”

After distributing the burgers and fries, Korg returned to the kitchen, leaving the three of them what privacy he could. They ate at a leisurely pace; for once not struggling to fit a meal between bounties, repairs, or reparative duties. Tony’s ‘mood music’ filled any gaps between their idle chatter. They’d just finished their burgers when Korg returned with a _pitcher_ filled to the brim with what Clint could only assume was a milkshake. The frothy liquid was topped with a truly extravagant amount of whipped cream and three plump preserved cherries. Korg placed three silicone straws onto the counter with a flourish, winking as he departed once more.

“Man, I need to cover for him and Hiroim more often,” Clint said, eying the pitcher appreciatively. Tony, mouth already full of milkshake, nodded fervently in agreement.  
  
“I’m not opposed,” Bucky said, after taking a cautious sip. “This puts my ration paste to shame.”  
  
“Waste plant by-product puts your ration paste to shame,” Clint retorted, mostly because Tony’s mouth was still occupied. Bucky grunted in mock annoyance, rolling his eyes.

Yeah, there were a lot of things Clint missed. A lifelong spacer would always chafe at the yoke of a colonist’s life. But nothing he’d lost as penance for his crimes could compare to what was in this dilapidated diner. Friends and lovers- a family.

His home.

**\---ω🜞ɦ---**

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Siriuslymarvelobsessed over at WI and my darling unicorn babe Misty for looking this over. 💜
> 
> Any remaining errors were absolutely mine.
> 
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
> Short comments  
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> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> Feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” if for whatever reason you do not wish for me to respond back. All reasons are 100% valid and in lieu of a response I will cherish your comment from afar <3


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